


Idle Chatter

by Mother_of_Dragons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, gender neutral reader, slightest bit lime-y, there's something up with Moira, wee bit of a liberal use of italics... but you know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 05:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21230732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_Dragons/pseuds/Mother_of_Dragons
Summary: Moira pauses, reaches for the cigarette she'd slipped behind her ear, then reconsiders, remembering she's in your quarters - always your quarters - and let's her hand fall back into her lap.





	Idle Chatter

**Author's Note:**

> [please excuse some of the formatting, my sub-paragraphs would not stay]

"Your hair's grown"

She hums non-comitally in response - too preoccupied with re-fastening her cufflinks (a silver, double helix set) to participate in idle chatter, not that you had expected anything less. 

You never quite know what to say after one of your...trysts? – you suppose that's as a good a way to put it whatever _ this _ is as any – and today is no different. Already, you can feel the curtain of silence begin to descend upon the both of you; it wouldn't be long now until she would utter the classic "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" line in lieu of a goodbye, a crisp finality in her tone. 

You decide to speak up before the silence can stifle what remains of your courage, lifting the duvet to cover yourself as you sit up. Considering that you had been fully bare for her just moments before, the irony (and perhaps innate ridiculousness) of the action isn't lost on you, but the gentle comfort it provides steadies you, and you manage to formulate a question with a steady voice. 

"Do you find me unattractive?" 

It's not what you'd meant to ask, a Freudian slip you suppose, but she knows what you mean all the same.

This was all still relatively new, but ever since you had begun being intimate, you had never glimpsed beyond her shirt or the ivory expanse of her neck, had never done more than heavy petting on her side. Was she freckled all over? Lithe? Toned? Even a quick glance at her back would sate you, if only to see whether the ridges of her spine were as prominent as you suspected, a telltale sign of whether she was eating enough. 

Moira pauses, reaches for the cigarette she'd slipped behind her ear, then reconsiders, remembering she's in your quarters - _ always your quarters _ \- and let's her hand fall back into her lap. 

"Unattractive?" 

She draws out the adjective, rolling the r a little, as if she's unfamiliar with its meaning and finds something to do with her hands, still facing away from you. 

"It's just--" 

You cut yourself off, blanching at the prospect of sounding just the slightest bit vulnerable as the last dregs of fledgling courage bleeds out of you. 

"By all accounts, I find you quite irresistible" 

She chooses her words carefully, slicks a hand through her hair & pauses, fiddling absently with the vibrant tresses just like you were so fond of doing. You're right, her hair _ has _ grown, its fringe now almost long enough to cover an eye when not moussed.

You can almost imagine that, at shoulder length, her silky russet locs would fall in gentle waves, glinting a fiery gold when caught by sunlight, like a halo. In this alternate reality, she would settle patiently between your knees every morning, one arm wrapped loosely around your calf as you braided her hair, free to decide on whatever style would suit her best for the day, as long (of course) as it remained within lab regulations. 

You appreciate her attempt at flattery, but you won't let it distract you from the fact that, by answering your question, she'd essentially ignored those which lay beneath it; Were you doing something that she didn't like? Not doing something that she did? 

Would you like her answer? 

The tension between you finally breaks, not with the heart to heart that you had been hoping for or even the nonchalant deflection you'd been expecting, but with the buzzing of your phone. 

Glad for the distraction, you reach around her to grab your phone before it vibrates off the bedside table, too absorbed in reading the text to catch the way Moira bristles at the sight of its sender. 

She's up by the time you've finished tapping out a reply, jaw set and staring pensively out of a window with her hands in her pockets as you get dressed, clearly mulling something over. 

"I'm needed elsewhere" 

Ah, _ and there it is. _

You pause for a moment, consider asking her to stay, then reconsider, letting out a sigh instead as you resume buttoning up your shirt. You can feel her eyes on you - watching your every move - but you refuse to meet her gaze, refuse to give her the typical, non-verbal affirmation of a future meeting. Truth be told, you're tired of her excuses… or would be, if she bothered to make any.

She's fiddling with her cufflinks again, metal glinting in the sunlight as she waits, surely more of a sign of her impatience than nerves. Come to think of it, you'd never seen Moira nervous before - flustered, blushing, heady with lust? sure, but nervous? No. 

So, what exactly was holding her back? 

She tilts your chin up with her index before you can delve too deep into thought, leans forwards until the backdrop of your quarters shifts out of focus and _ kisses _ you [and you hate yourself a little that you let her], lips melding together perfectly as she (as always) takes control and you swear that the world around you blurs, tingles running down your spine, fingers, toes even. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls away, bites down hard enough for it to smart and [you hate yourself a little that you follow her movement without thought, seeking her warmth] strokes your face before she straightens up. 

"Meet me tonight at 8 in the lab" 

Then, she's gone, the gentle hiss of the door as it auto-locks and the fading lavender scent which permeates the air the only proof that she was ever here.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 8th post this year & my 4th Moira one, not to say that they're good,  
but that has to count for something.


End file.
